THE GAME MUST GO ON.
FRIDAY, JULY 1
dodge
THE CROWD WAS SMALLER ON FRIDAY NIGHT; THE atmosphere tense, unhappy. Nervous.
There was no beer, no music, no bursts of laughter. Just a few dozen people huddled silently fifty feet down the road from Trigger-Happy Jack’s fence, massed together, lit up white-faced in the glare of the bouncing headlights.
When Bishop cut the engine, Dodge could hear the sound of Nat’s ragged breathing. Dodge had spent the ride over trying to distract her by doing easy magic tricks, like making a joker appear in her jacket pocket and a penny vanish from her palm. Now he said, “Just follow the plan, okay? Follow the plan and everything will be okay.”
Nat nodded, but she looked sick—like she might puke. She was deathly afraid of dogs, she had told him. Also: ladders, heights, darkness, and the feeling you get in the middle of the night when you check your phone and see no one has texted. As far as he could tell, she was pretty much afraid of everything. And yet, she had decided to play. This made him like her even more.
And she had chosen him, Dodge, as her ally.
Bishop said nothing. Dodge wondered what he was thinking. He’d always thought Bishop was nice enough, and book smart for sure, but just like a big dumb guy who followed Heather everywhere. But Dodge was starting to change his mind. During the drive, Bishop’s eyes had clicked to his for a second in the rearview, and Dodge had detected some kind of warning there.
The night was clear and still. The moon was high and halfway to full, and turning everything to silhouette, drawing angles around the fence. Still, it was dark. A flashlight went on and off several times, a silent signal. Heather, Bishop, Nat, and Dodge walked toward it. Dodge had the urge to take Nat’s hand, but Nat was hugging herself tightly.
At least Dodge had had time to plan, to prepare. If Nat hadn’t told him about the dummy Heather had spotted on Tuesday, he might not have known about the newest challenge until this morning.
The email had come to all the players simultaneously from [email protected].
Location: Coral Lake Road
Time: Midnight
Goal: Take a prize from the house.
Bonus: Find the desk in the gun room and take what’s hidden there.
“All right.” Diggin was speaking quietly as they drew up close to the group. They were late. “Players, step forward.”
They did, detaching themselves from the people who had come to watch. Fewer players, fewer spectators. After the bust, everyone was jumpy. And Coral Lake Road was bad luck. Trigger-Happy Jack was bad—all bad. A psycho and a drunk and worse.
Dodge knew he wouldn’t think twice about shooting them.
The beam of a flashlight swept over each of the players in turn. It felt like the minutes were swelling into hours. The counting took forever. Dodge could see Ray Hanrahan, chewing gum loudly, standing on the outer edge of the circle of players. His face was concealed in shadow. Dodge felt a familiar clutch of anger. Strange how it didn’t go away; over the past two years, it just seemed to be growing, like a cancer in his stomach.
“Walsh is missing,” Diggin said finally. “So is Merl.”
“They’re out, then,” someone said.
“It’s midnight.” Diggin was still practically whispering. The wind lifted the trees, hissed at them, as though it knew they were trespassing. The dogs were still quiet, though. Sleeping, or waiting. “The second challenge—”
“Second challenge?” Zev broke in. “What about the water towers?”
“Invalidated,” Diggin said. “Not everyone got to go.”
Zev spat on the ground, and Heather made a noise of protest. Diggin ignored them.
“When I say go,” he said.
He paused. For a moment, it seemed that everything went still. Dodge could feel the slow drum of his heart, beating in the hollow of his chest. And as they stood there in the dark, waiting, it occurred to him that here, somewhere in this crowd, were the judges—hiding behind familiar faces, maybe enjoying it.
“Go,” Diggin said.
“Go!” Dodge said to Heather and Nat, at the same time. Heather nodded and took Nat’s hand; they vanished together into the dark, Nat moving stiff-legged, still limping slightly, like a broken doll.
Dodge made straight for the fence, like they’d agreed, like he’d scoped the place out and knew what he was doing. And as he predicted, a half-dozen people ran after him in silence, doubled over as though, even now, they were being watched.